


Under the Radar

by VKDrabs (valorikei)



Series: RusAme NSFW Drabbles [43]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Being Walked In On, Blow Jobs, M/M, Oblivious, Oblivious Arthur, Public Blow Jobs, Public Sex, Under the Table, VK Drabs, World Meeting (Hetalia)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-07-26 15:34:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7579594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valorikei/pseuds/VKDrabs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabble #109: Pairing Order: RusAme / Rating: M / Prompt: Canon verse, Under the table blowjob</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under the Radar

"Oi, Russia! You're here pretty early today," England commented as he walked into the meeting room, the startled nation sitting up straight as a board. Russia just giggled and gave him a short nod, opening his clenched fist up to give an informal wave from the tabletop.

"Zdras'vyui," he hummed in greeting, shutting up quickly as his expression darkened angrily, England wincing back in surprise. What kind of look was that? How rude! Snorting at the violent display, Arthur just huffed and turned up his nose, heading to the blackboard to start diagraming the to-do list for the day.

"Aghk-!" Ivan grunted lowly behind him, Arthur jolting when the growl was accompanied by the sound of the table wood splintering beneath the cloth. He whirled around, Ivan shuddering up a creepy, twisted, breathless smile at him with a look that said 'If you do not stop staring at me I will rip your eyes out myself!' Still, that kind of behavior was–

"Is there problem?" Ivan sneered with a heavy accent before Arthur could ask him the same question, the island nation not more than one fifteenth of Russia's impressive size racing for an excuse. England sputtered and then coughed into his fist, setting his chalk piece down on the board and heading to his respective seat (thankfully many chairs apart from Russia's).

"Oh, nothing. Nothing!" England replied dismissively, moistening his dry lips nervously with his tongue as he settled into his seat. A weird, wet, smucking sound seemed to echo through the room, Russia's death grin entirely uncomfortable to be faced with. The island nation squirmed and pleaded desperately to the heavens above that someone else would walk in and end this miserable tension.

"Ublyudok-!" Russia suddenly snarled out, Arthur flinching in surprise at hearing what could only be a curse word. He clutched weakly at his tie, adjusting it and straightening his coat as Ivan let out an apologetically raspy laugh. "Ah, forgive me just now."

"Erm, right-oh. You alright over there, old chap?" England tried to start up a pleasant conversation, shutting his mouth again quickly as Ivan tilted his head with a violent look of malice.

"I think-" he started and then jolted, banging his fist down hard on the table as he leaned forward threateningly, his expression as dark as his infamous history and enough to set Arthur on edge. "— the refreshment table is out of tea. Go get some."

"What?" Arthur looked a bit surprised, his tone salty over having been given such an order. To think, being treated as if he were some dog! But, it was as good of an excuse as he'd ever get one, so he stood up and excuses himself, glancing at the notably depleted stash of tea packets. "Oh! Indeed. I'll be back in a moment, then."

Walking down the hall, Arthur did his best to reflect on Russia's odd behavior, not that he wasn't necessarily unaccustomed to the eastern nation always being a bit… Off. So lost in thought, he hardly even realized France was approaching from the other direction, a bored look on his annoying face. "Oh. You're early," Arthur hissed bitterly, redirecting his discomfort into irritation towards his forever rival. Francis scoffed and rolled his eyes, glancing past Arthur towards the meeting room.

"N'importe quoi! Are they almost finished in there yet? My back hurts from making laps around the floor," Francis whined, tossing a section of his golden hair over his shoulder. Arthur scowled up a frown, tilting his head. He glanced back at the room, and then again addressed Francis.

"Is who done? Russia is the only one in there, the slimy bastard," Arthur growled lowly and crossed his arms, Francis sighing with tense relief and mirroring the pose.

"It's about time then! What stamina, quel connard," Francis grumbled and moved past Arthur, making a beeline for the meeting room. Overcome by curiosity, Arthur abandoned his original task and followed, shocked to find America standing next to Russia's chair with a smug look on his face. Russia's agitation remained blatantly obvious of course, and for whatever reason he had let America use his handkerchief to wipe his face.

"Oi, America! When'd you get here?" He greeted his former colony, the blond freezing up a little before relaxing, looking over his shoulder to grin at England. The tall nation shrugged, dropping the dirtied kerchief to the tablecloth for Russia to steal away back into his coat with a look of flustered embarrassment. Francis let out a snorty, nasally laugh and slapped a hand against Arthur's back, obviously making fun of him. England glared, realizing he was outside of an inside joke. "What?"

"Nothin', dude, don't worry about it," America smirked cheekily and winked at France, who only managed to grimace up a weak smile of his own. "Just knock first, next time. Gives me more time to finish off and crawl out from the table that way."


End file.
